


Fantôme

by kingdavidbowie



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Genre: AU-Will doesn't go back to the field, First Meeting, Gen, ghost au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-17
Updated: 2015-05-17
Packaged: 2018-03-30 21:44:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3952861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kingdavidbowie/pseuds/kingdavidbowie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He shuts off the projector, and for a moment the room is a sepulchral, seeping black, before he switches the lights on and it's just home-not-home again. </p><p>But he could swear that he saw something in the darkness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fantôme

Will meets Hannibal Lecter a week after the man dies. It's nice out, maybe--it was while Will was walking into the Academy, anyway, and he'll just go on believing that, thank you very much, if only because he can. There aren't enough windows to do anything else.

 His lecture hall is more concrete than wood, unlike his cabin, but something about it is vaguely homey. This may just be because he finds anywhere that isn't a crime scene calming to the point of being therapeutic, but even if it is just that, that's okay, he thinks. Therapeutic is good. _Therapy_ is not.

 "That's it for today," he says at the end of his afternoon class, and it comes out more friendly than usual, which works, sure. He watches contentedly from his desk as one student almost doubles back, as if to ask Will a question, and then doesn't, heading out the door. It's antisocial and somewhat of a dick thought, but he's glad the boy kept going. He's feeling amiable, but not  _that_ amiable. 

He shuts off the projector, and for a moment the room is a sepulchral, seeping black, before he switches the lights on and it's just home-not-home again. 

But he could swear that he saw something in the darkness.

-

He doesn't tell anyone, or even think much of it all, really. They'll accuse him of becoming even more neurotic than he already is and send him to see a therapist, or start looking at him with pity again, or worry over him constantly, and he can't bear even the thought of it. He glances into the row of seats on his way out later, but, of course, nothing's there. He locks the door before leaving.

Will's paranoia starts edging its way to the front of his mind, though, creeping slowly but surely. He glances back behind himself more and more after he sees another piece of white in the corner of his eye while driving home. Those looks and his flinching only increase exponentially throughout the proceeding days, if he's being honest.

After the third time, he tells Alana. 

He invites her on a walk after she's eaten lunch--"Fresh air is always a good thing, isn't it?" he says, and his ulterior motives are painfully obvious, because she asks him immediately after they've walked outside what's up.

"It's not like the other images," he explains when she starts to narrow her eyebrows. "Those are... were... red, and black; they were flashes before my eyes, my whole vision. Like a horror film, basically."

"This is different."

How to put it? "It's not in flashes, it's just there, in the corner of my eye sometimes, this white, gray... person... Like a mirage in the desert. A ghost. It doesn't move, he just sits there, or stands--"

"He?" the doctor queries. She raises her dark eyebrows. 

"It. He. Same thing." It's of no consequence.

"Not particularly," Alana says, and he smiles, just a little bit. 

And then it shows up again.

Will finds his hands already clasped onto the woman's shoulders before he even intends to. "It's right there," he whispers, "on my left. Can you..."

She just looks surprised, and he lets go, apologizing. "I swear I'm not that bad this week," he mutters, wiping his sweaty palms on his khakis. "Dammit. I'm sorry."

_Change the subject, so she doesn't think you're_ completely _psychotic_ , his mind urges him. 

"Hear about that cannibal they caught a few days ago?" she asks before he can. "I suppose the more accurate term would be 'found'... That would've been you, on that team, if you'd accepted last year..." she says thoughtfully, and stops, probably unsure if she hasn't said the wrong thing. "Sorry, Will."

"It's alright. Perfectly."

"He was a psychiatrist, too, you know."

"There's a method to my madness, I told you. _Therapy,_ " he goes, his mouth performing something between a grimace and a grin, and she smiles back finally, looking relieved.

-

He's taking a grilled cheese sandwich from the cafeteria to eat somewhere when the white shape shows up again, this time right in front of him--it's been getting further and further from the edge of his vision in the past few days and lingering more often almost right before him. He skids to a halt to avoid walking into it, and falls on his face in the effort. His tray goes sliding, and people are staring, and he just  _fell straight through the thing like it was a cloud_. 

It wasn't a mirage. It was, although faint in existence,  _definitely there_. White, pale, and faded--but warm, and tangible. He's not sure if it was a comfortable warm or the echo of some fire come straight from hell. Hard to tell.

It's gone when Will gets up, but he doesn't worry about it now. By the time he gets to his feet, he has already decided to catch the damn thing and out its truth.

-

Six days after the first sighting, he closes the door to the lecture hall as soon as everyone has left (as if a door could stop a ghost). He waits in his desk chair, arms crossed, glasses on. He  _has this_.

Twenty minutes in, he's fallen asleep with his chin tucked into his neck and his shoes on his desk. He dreams of the thing--the ghost.

The man.

The shape is moving this time instead of hovering around the edges of Will's existence, a white and blurring sort of thing. Will stands his ground and plants his feet more than his shoulders' width apart. "I've got all the time in the world to wait," he says, even if it's a total lie. "And you aren't going away, are you?"

No answer.

"Are you going to make me deduce this?" he asks, and looks down to find a notebook in his hands. He opens it, knowing what's inside. "First sight, a week ago, my classroom. Then, when I was driving home. Class again. When I told Alana about you. At home. In the shower. While I was out walking. At lunch. And so on..." he says, when he starts to realize.

"No," he says, again to no reply. The white shape, the man, isn't even around now. "No. You're not... _no_."

Will just stares, mesmerized, as the man slowly materializes in front of him, from the bottom of his shoes to the crown of his head, taller than Will. He fades in like he's being transported to the surface of Will's dream off of the starship  _Enterprise_. He says nothing, just stands there, hovering an inch above the grass outside Will's house in shined leather shoes and a suit vest and a red tie. His hair is a tawny gray, or maybe blond, in the light, combed to the side in an ironically pristine casualness. 

His eyes are the blackest, the only black part of him.

"Lecter," Will names him, and wakes up.

It will not be the last time he says it. 


End file.
